Things Not Covered In Grad School
by Sable Fennec
Summary: Short and sappy McWeir ficlets. Will probably have a third and final piece added at some point. So far: Rodney asks Elizabeth to dinner, and gets her a birthday present.
1. A Remote Diagnosis

**Notes**: This is AU insomuch as it's season one and there's no mention of Simon. Uh, sorry about that. It's also my first try at SGA, so let me know how I do.

* * *

Elizabeth thinks one of the things she likes most about Rodney is the way he never takes anything for granted. He fully realizes possibilities, and so is much more inclined to panic. What she hadn't realized, however, is how it looks on him when it isn't a life or death situation.

It's cute.

"Um, so, I understand there's no precedent for – for this sort of situation, and ordinarily I'd do something less invasive and, uh, awkward – " Rodney stumbles over his words. "Such as, well, I tried to get some flowers on P4X-362, but I was allergic to all of them and I couldn't very well ask Sheppard – "

By now he's flushed bright red. Elizabeth thinks she should put him out of his misery and interrupt. She picks through her options and decides on smiling. It works: he stutters and gasps to a halt. Before he could work himself into another fit, she says, "You tried to pick flowers for me?" People tend to forget her existence once they're offworld, or at least SGA-1 seems to. She is, frankly, touched.

"Ah, ah. Um. Yes."

Her smile widens. "Thank you, Rodney. That was very sweet of you." Beat. "And yes, I'll have dinner with you."

Rodney releases all his breath, an expulsion of relief as much as air. "Oh god. Thank you."

"I'll see you at 1900 hours tomorrow, then?" she asks mildly, courteously allowing Rodney to pull himself together. At first she'd been surprised and thrown off kilter by how honest he is in absolutely everything. Now she finds the quality attractive.

Rodney draws himself up, stubborn chin raised. His confident poise is only betrayed by the dabs of color on his cheeks and the spots of white at his knuckles. "Yes, of course. I will see you then, Elizabeth," he tells her, quite formally.

She nods soberly. "And you, Rodney."

* * *

John hears a noise at the door to his quarters and looks up. When the door opens, it reveals a disheveled, shell shocked Rodney McKay, looking as if he'd jogged a few miles and only just caught his breath. 

He raises his eyebrows. "Is someone in mortal peril?"

McKay pauses, leaning heavily on the threshold. "What? No, no, nothing like that." He waves a hand. "This is far more nerve wracking."

"I can see that. What is it?"

Something like pride enters his posture. "I," he announces to Atlantis and John, "have a date. With... with..." Sudden awareness sweeps over McKay, making him pale as he trails off. John watches with interest as a play of emotions takes the stage: shock again, rapture, horror, and finally sheer anxiety.

John figures he'd better head this off at the pass. "You forgot who you're going with?" Ordinarily he hates being accosted in his quarters, but this scenario is too good to forego.

"Of course not," McKay replies acerbically. Then he seems to mentally collapse upon himself as he says, voice soft with wonder, "I'm going with Elizabeth."

John's grin is instantaneous, the expression blossoming over his features. "What are you going to do? Go over power expenditure figures?"

"No," he snaps back, recovering with eyes blazing. "We're going to have dinner."

"So what are you doing here?" John drawls, though he has a fine idea what McKay is doing here and is just asking to wind him up.

"I've never cooked for a woman before," admits Rodney, no shame in him about this. That surprises John. "I always felt I shouldn't bring them home until I was sure there was something going on, and I suppose I was never certain."

Okay. That's plain pathetic. John feels himself obligated to help McKay out, even if only for Elizabeth's sake. He hoists himself to his feet, already heading for the door. "Come on, let's go see what we can find in the mess hall. Maybe you can barter for something."

"Barter?" McKay sputters, trailing after him.

"Yup. Barter."

* * *

Elizabeth is delighted. "Where in the world did you find wine?" She takes a grateful sip of it. Red wine is a guilty pleasure of hers, and maybe it's the long months without, but it tastes divine. 

"Offworld, as it were," Rodney answers primly. His nervousness is easily apparent to her: precise, careful speech; perfect posture; sharply observant eyes. "I obliged to repair a simple water working contrivance for the natives of P7X-921 and offered a few suggestions for improvement."

She notes how meticulously he doesn't mention that he'd done so specifically for her. Knowing this was evidence of how keenly he'd been hurt in the past, Elizabeth does not pity him or fret over him; rather, she finds a deep wellspring of fondness and patience. John had effectively tattled on his teammate in the mission report, but Elizabeth would have had a good idea of the truth regardless.

"I was disheartened to have to reschedule this, but I have to admit the wine more than makes up for it."

"You like it, then?"

"Oh, yes. I've never had the luxury of collecting it, but I used to visit vineyards when I could."

"Just the sort of sophisticated, high brow activity I would expect of you," says Rodney thoughtlessly, growing more relaxed.

"I am somewhat stereotypical, aren't I?"

"Maybe not," he acknowledges gruffly. "I'd rather have you as expedition leader than some pretentious ass hoping for a prestigious sinecure." He scowls. Evidently he'd encountered a few of those before.

A warm rush of pleasure floods her senses. Elizabeth says lightly, "I'm glad you don't find my methods objectionable." To someone as socially inept as Rodney, it would sound like she'd taken offense, something she realized only belatedly.

It's as if he came to himself abruptly, like she'd thrown cold water on him. He looks briefly horrified and she, guiltily, couldn't help but be amused. "Oh, no, not at all. You're easier to work with than most people."

Elizabeth doesn't point out that she's a diplomat and that is her job. Instead: "Thank you. It's a weight off my mind, truly, to know my head of science is fully competent." But that's enough professional talk. She knows full well Rodney could go on all night in that vein. "You're not exactly stereotypical yourself," she observes.

"Yes, I know," he says smugly, as she'd known he would. "I'm far more brilliant than you expected."

"Not at all," Elizabeth returns, shaking her head and sipping her wine. "I expected that. It's your bravery that surprises me."

His eyes widen. "We can't all be Major Sheppard," he rejoins, feeling himself compared and found wanting.

"Rodney," she tells him kindly, "I am proud to call you my colleague for many reasons. Major Sheppard does not enter into them. After all," she reminds him, "it's not him I'm having dinner with. Is it?"

"Ah, no," he answers softly, overcome. "I suppose not."

* * *

When it is time for them to part ways, Rodney hovers over her, wondering if he should kiss her. She is so beautiful, and kind, and patient, and when she smiles at him it feels like there's no one else she'd rather be smiling at. 

Elizabeth puts her small, fine boned hands on his arms, and he stills. A curling wisp of black, black hair has fallen across her eyes. He longs to reach out and brush it aside but doesn't quite dare, instead focusing on the warmth of her flesh until his world narrows, tunnel vision, to nothing but her.

"Rodney," she says. "Kiss me."

He leans down and presses his mouth to hers and puts his hands gently, gently on her face. Her hair is soft and fine, sliding between his fingers like a covalent bond. Her arms are around him, strong and slender, and her tongue is hot and wet.

Kissing Elizabeth, Rodney thinks faintly, is like beginning.

* * *

A few days later, Elizabeth returns to her office to find a note. Or, rather, a print out of a map of Atlantis with one area marked off in red. Rodney's abrupt scrawl fills the margin. 

_Elizabeth, _it reads.

_This room appears to be the Ancient equivalent of a spa. There's a salt water hot tub there that seems to serve only as a horrific waste of power, but tomorrow evening that section of the city has to be powered anyway. We'll be making a remote diagnosis from the lab of any problems we find during our routine checks, so I probably won't see you again until the staff meeting the day after. Just thought I should keep you abreast of our efforts._

_Rodney McKay._

She is not fooled. She knows 'a remote diagnosis' is not at all in the usual schedule. Elizabeth can read between the lines. Other men might stick to things like chocolate and flattery, but Rodney's first instinct is to hide the affectionate side of his personality. Elizabeth knows she has never received a compliment more genuine than the one she has received now, with this evidence of how hard Rodney is trying for her.

And she smiles.


	2. Chiaroscuro

Chiaroscuro

1/3/07

Notes: Immense thanks to a kind reviewer, Lenyia, for correcting my horrible Czech. I lay no claim to things such as relevancy, characters, humor, or timeline. Chiaroscuro means the distribution of light and shade, usually in a painting.

* * *

"What am I going to get her?" Rodney hisses.

"Co?" Radek looks up from his work. The way Rodney is leaning forward, glancing about with narrowed eyes, reminds him of schoolchildren sharing a secret.

"Elizabeth!" he replies explosively. "It's her birthday. What do you _get_ your expedition leader for her birthday?"

"So that's all she is," Radek says mildly. He looks back at his laptop, not because he's turned his attention away, but because he knows it will infuriate Rodney.

It does. "You – you – Don't play games! This is important. Really, Radek," he goes on, "I haven't had to buy a woman a present in years."

"Not that you can buy things on Atlantis." Spinning his stool to face Rodney puts him directly in his face, which is just what he wants; it halts the vitriolic words forming in his friend's mouth, too surprised to verbalize them. "Yes, yes, Rodney, I see your problem. I cannot help you. It is simply your gift."

"What are you talking about?"

"Elizabeth asks for a gift from Rodney, from her friend, as romance. She does not ask this from me."

"She hasn't asked me anything!"

Radek sighs. Exasperation wins out over amusement. "You will never understand women," he mutters. "Alright, I tell you this. Here is my advice."

"Yes, yes, go on."

He looks at him, making sure he pauses to signify what he thinks of this interruption. Rodney's eye twitches. "My advice: be impulsive. Women, they like gifts that mean things."

"Be impulsive? Radek, I don't do impulsive. I'm a scientist."

"We know," he answers dryly, and then swivels his seat again. This time he really is concentrating on his work.

Silence.

"They don't cover this in grad school, you know." Rodney scowls as he leaves.

* * *

"Colonel Sheppard," he hears from behind him. John keeps walking. He is hungry, and he is going to eat.

"Colonel Sheppard!"

Nope. It's time for food, not time for Rodney.

His commlink turns on. His first name is growled into his ear.

"This better be serious," he grumbles back.

"It most certainly is," comes Rodney's indignant reply.

John enters the mess, picks up his food, and sits at a table. Rodney dashes in shortly thereafter, clearly out of breath as he takes his seat. "It's Elizabeth's birthday tomorrow," he bursts out.

"That's nice," John says idly, digging into his meal.

Rodney frowns at his lack of food. He steals a piece of fried PX4-692 vegetable. "Hey," says John, "that's mine. Go get your own, thief." It's not a stellar reply. He's too busy eating.

Ignoring this, Rodney insists, "John. Birthday! What do I get her?"

"I don't know, I always got my girlfriend lingerie and flowers. Maybe a weekend trip if I liked her a lot, or she was really hot."

Now bright red, Rodney says, "You're no help. No one's any help! Radek told me to 'be impulsive,' you're giving me tips on my sex life – "

"You have a sex life?"

" – and I don't dare ask Carson, his reply probably will be useful but singularly unintelligible from that stupid, inarticulate Scots accent!"

"I thought I told you that mocking the chief medical officer is a bad idea, Rodney," states Elizabeth calmly, eyes light with humor. She joins them abruptly at their table.

Rodney makes a noise similar to a squawk, his color ripening like a tomato. "E-Elizabeth." John snickers into his almost-a-starch, and when Rodney rounds on him, infuriated, only raises his eyebrows.

Standing, Rodney turns around and storms, for the second time that day, out of a room.

* * *

Elizabeth is, ultimately, unsurprised that Rodney does not hand her a present on her birthday. Not many people do give her one, after all; it's not information she's made obvious by any means, although anyone curious could simply view her public file. But truthfully, she knows he's gotten her something. Rodney may be inconsiderate, but only a fool would confuse the trait with unthinking. He is anything but unthinking.

So when she enters her office and finds a small, precisely wrapped present on her desk, she only smiles. For a second she's nostalgic, and wonders if Rodney will ever give her a gift to her face. Elizabeth's not in a hurry, though. She's always preferred opening things by herself, her expression unschooled.

Inside she finds a necklace, which is appropriate given the size of the package. It's no Tiffany's: the cord is a strip of hewn, untreated dark leather; the pendant, pale driftwood. It looks slightly too perfect to have been carved by hand, and she strongly suspects Rodney used Ancient technology to ease the process for him.

Elizabeth stands quiet, not thinking, merely digesting. Then she reaches up and unclasps the delicate sterling silver clasp at the back of her neck, and brings the jewelry forward. She lays them side by side on her desk, the new and the old. They are the picture of chiaroscuro.

She thinks, now. She thinks that, were she to wear them both, they would become tangled, and it would nag at her all day, unseen under her shirt. Elizabeth takes the rawhide strap and ties it, slowly, near her clavicle. She slides the cord around to her nape, which takes some effort, as it is uneven.

Looking down, she thinks that the unclosed triangle, a dot atop the apex, looks right there.


End file.
